


It All Began With Pie

by chaletian



Series: the hypothetical adventures of Dean and Jo [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, now basically an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:06:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaletian/pseuds/chaletian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Considering the wealth of material from which they could choose to draw their marital disputes, it is notable that Dean and Jo Winchester’s arguments are almost universally domestic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It All Began With Pie

Considering the wealth of material from which they could choose to draw their marital disputes, it is notable that Dean and Jo Winchester’s arguments are almost universally domestic. A case in point:  
  
“Why the hell did you _e-mail_ me about it?” demands Jo, dropping groceries on the table.  
  
“Well, why the hell didn’t you check your e-mail?” shouts Dean.  
  
“Because what kind of idiot sends an e-mail about wanting _pie_ when his wife is standing right there in the kitchen?”   
  
“Pie,” says Rob, and throws his cup on the floor.  
  
“See,” says Dean, crossing his arms and looking smug, “kid wants pie too.”  
  
Jo glares at him. “Men effing suck,” she hisses, and then stamps out.

oOo

As a result of the pie argument, which results in two days of cold behaviour with both parties shooting poisonous glances at each other, Dean finally agrees to go on a fishing trip with Joe Johnson and some guys from town. It’s awesome.  
  
“This is awesome, dude,” says Dean on the last day. They’ve had good weather and beer and no women and, to be honest, not that many fish either, but no-one cares.  
  
“Amen to that,” agrees Al Bishop, sitting back in his seat. “I sure do love my Martha, but a woman can be a terrible torment.”  
  
“Ain’t that the truth,” says Dean. He thinks, fleetingly, that if a few years ago he could’ve seen himself now, sitting on a porch with a group of upright citizens, bitching about their wives, he’d’ve pissed himself laughing. Strange how things change.  
  
“You and Jo had a bust up?” asks Joe. “Did wonder why you decided to come.”  
  
Dean shrugs. “Nah, not really. Just thought we could both do with a couple days’ peace, you know?”  
  
“Well, she’s a nice girl,” says Joe, shaking an admonishing finger. “You be good to her.”  
  
“Always,” says Dean, and means it.   
  
They pack up later that day, shout casual farewells as they climb into their respective cars (and Dean feels that quick spasm of regret as he slides into a car that isn’t the Impala, runs hands over a wheel that isn’t as a familiar as his own skin, but it wasn’t just people that ended up sacrificed in the fight to stave off the apocalypse), and drive back towards town. Dean’s about five miles away from the lodge when his cell starts beeping, and he remembers Joe saying the reception was crappy.  
  
The first beep doesn’t concern him. Might be Tom in Knoxville about those Harley parts Dean was selling. More likely Jo. _Hey, Winchester. Hope you’re having fun. Kid tried to steal Missy Erikson’s roses again. Sorry about the pie._ Or, more likely, _Get over the pie._  
  
The second beep isn’t much of a surprise. Probably Jo again. _Hey, if you’re coming in through town, could you pick up some groceries?_ The third beep, and he thinks maybe she’s planning something - _Oh, just so you know, Mom’s swinging by for a week or two._ \- or that ad he was planning to run had gone in earlier than he expected.  
  
By the fourth beep, he’s not so sanguine, and he frowns at the passenger seat. Five beeps, then six, and he pulls over, and reaches for the phone. Four minutes later and he’s driving again, a plume of dust in his wake.  
  
 _“Hey, Dean, it’s me. Look, sorry about the last couple of days. Hope you got out to the cabin OK. Anyway, can you call me? I heard something weird at Freya’s today. Love you. Bye.”_  
  
It’s starting to get dark by the time Dean pulls into the junk yard, stars just beginning to emerge from the twilit sky. He parks haphazardly and runs up the porch steps. The door’s locked, and he spends frantic seconds patting his pockets for his keys.  
  
 _“Hey, it’s me again. Please call me as soon as you get this. Someone killed Jane Taylor – you know, that kid out on Gully Road. I think there’s some other stuff going on, too. Our kind of stuff, I mean. Apparently the cops are being real close-mouthed about it, but Dorothy said she heard them talking about pagan sacrifices or something. Anyway, it’s probably just kids messing around and going too far but – well, you know how these things can go. I’m gonna try and find out more. Call me.”_  
  
The house is dark and still, and he shouts for Jo but isn’t surprised when there’s no answer. He tries her cell again, but it goes straight to voicemail and he hangs up. He stands, alone, in the kitchen and stares at the shopping list left on the table. At the bottom it says PIE!!! and he remembers how Jo fell, that night at the height of the war against Lucifer; how she slid through his arms, bloodless and sightless, and there was nothing he could do.  
  
 _“It’s me. Annie said reception out there was crap, so I guess you probably haven’t got my messages yet. Anyway, I can’t wait. I saw Jane’s body, and we’re talking full-on witchcraft, the malevolent kind. Jesus, I didn’t even realise anyone round here practised. And I reckon we would’ve known, right? Or Bobby would’ve known. So either it’s someone who’s moved recently, or someone who hasn’t been practising – or hasn’t realised they could. But they’re definitely targeting the Taylors. Matthew Taylor’s in the ER. Heart attack. And the kid, Danny, just got beaten half to death by the football team, for fuck’s sake. Anyway, call me when you get these.”_  
  
This life, this home, this family: they were hard won. And Dean doesn’t think he can bear to lose them. He’s not sure he could _survive_ losing them. Not again.  
  
 _“OK, whoever’s doing this is pretty violent, Dean. I’ve never seen anyone do so much, so quickly, not like this, and there’s nobody new in town. It has to be someone who’s been here a while. Melissa Taylor’s in ICU. They say she got hit by a car, but c’mon. This is freaking me out a bit. Kinda wish you were here, y’know? Anyway, I’ve called a few people, just to see if anyone can help. I’d come get you, but I’m not sure how much time there is before they go after Debby Taylor. I’m taking Rob to Annie’s, then I’m gonna take a look round the Taylor place.”_  
  
“Dean, honey, are you OK?” asks Annie. Her faced is creased with concern, but Dean doesn’t care, he’s just relieved to have Rob safe in his arms. Rob wriggles to get down.  
  
“Do you know where Jo is?” Dean says, hoping that Jo was sensible and told Annie exactly what was happening and where she was going.  
  
“Well, I don’t know exactly,” says Annie apologetically. “She said it was an emergency and asked if I would look after Robby for you. Something to do with those poor Taylor girls. Did you hear about that? Just awful!”  
  
“Where the hell _is_ the Taylor place?” demands Dean. “Jo said something about Gully Road – is that down east towards Redemption?”  
  
“That’s it. Theirs is that old blue house on the bend. Taylors’ve lived there all the time Joe and I have been here, and before that. Only other house out there is Clara Hanigan’s, and she’s lived there her whole life – oh, you remember her, Dean! She came to that picnic that…”  
  
“Did Jo say anything else about what she was doing?” interrupts Dean.  
  
Annie’s eyes are sharp. “What’s going on here, Dean? Is this something to do with – well, you know. That _other_ stuff?”  
  
Dean looks at her blankly. “I don’t know wh--- ”  
  
“Oh, don’t you give me that, Dean Winchester! My mama didn’t raise no fool. We’ve all got eyes to see, and you can’t tell me you and that girl don’t know more about some things than I reckon the rest of us would be comfortable with.”  
  
John Winchester had lived by few rules, but they had been strict rules, and Dean’s always known you don’t tell civilians anything they don’t need to hear. But he looks at Annie, and thinks, maybe, you don’t have to lie to your friends.  
  
“Jo’s in danger,” he says.  
  
 _“So, I’m at the Taylors’ house. This place is cre-e-epy. And, by the way, is totally how our house would’ve looked if we’d left it the way you wanted. Anyway, whatever. Whoever it is, they’ve been through here. It’s a mess, but vicious, y’know? There are curses in the walls, and I found some pretty angry Latin on the porch and windows. But I’m not being attacked by a lamp or whatever, though, so I figure it’s definitely being directly just at the family. So, personal. I’m gonna look around, see if I can find any clues. I haven’t been able to get hold of anyone else, but I guess you’ll be back soon. I love you. Bye.”_  
  
Annie’s great, but she doesn’t know anything more about the Taylors, and Dean’s too aware of the time since Jo’s last voicemail message. He leaves Rob at the Johnsons’, and drives out to Gully Road, hoping the reception’s just as bad there as at the cabin, hoping Jo’s still poking around, hoping his wife is just fine.  
  
The Taylor house is empty.  
  
 _“Hey, I think I actually found something. I… Hang on, there’s someone coming. Call you back.”_  
  
The place is a wreck. No piece of furniture has escaped unscathed. Books and papers are everywhere. The house is practically steaming vitriol. But there’s no blood, Dean thinks, and that’s the only thing he _can_ think, because his mind’s gone blank, but he can’t let that happen. A clue. Jo had said she’d found a clue. He thinks about her, thinks about how she works a case when they actually do one themselves. He thinks about how she moves through a house; where she looks first. He thinks about…  
  
A shot rings out and crows scream. Dean runs to the door.  
  
“Jesus _fuck_ , I didn’t think she’d ever go down!” calls out Jo, emerging from the house across the road. She’s dishevelled and a little bloody and has familiar shotgun over her shoulder. “Talk about a crazy bitch!” She jogs over the road, grinning up at Dean as he stands on the porch. “Hey, honey! You have a good time with the guys?”

oOo

The Winchesters’ arguments are almost universally domestic, but not completely. Take, for example, the argument that follows the pie debacle.  
  
“Why the hell didn’t you wait for me to get back?” demands Dean. “Jesus, Jo, you could’ve been killed!”  
  
“Oh, _please_ ,” says Jo dismissively, “I could’ve taken that old witch blindfolded.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?” replies Dean. “What, were you _napping_ when she nearly gouged your eyes out?”  
  
“Look, she nearly wiped out the entire Taylor family in the space of a day and a half! I couldn’t exactly wait around!”  
  
Professional curiosity leads to a lull. “What was that all about, anyhow? Annie says they’d all lived out there for years, never any problems.”  
  
Jo rolls her eyes. “Love gone awry, of course. Clara Hanigan and Matthew Taylor were high school sweethearts, until Matthew fell in love with Debby. Which Clara, give her her due, was fine with, cuz these things happen, right? Only a few days ago, she’s round the Taylors’ house, helping Debby clear out the attic, and she finds these letters supposedly from _her_ , dumping Matthew.”  
  
Dean sighs, already pissed off by the story. “Blah blah blah, Debby pulled a fast one, Matthew didn’t notice, Clara’s pissed as hell.”  
  
“Right. I mean, God knows it was years ago, but I guess she never got over losing Matthew or something. Whatever. So, she’s got this whole witchy history thing going on – which I can’t believe Bobby missed, by the way – and she knew a load of stuff, but she’s a good Christian, right, so she doesn’t do any of that.”  
  
“Until she gets mad.”  
  
Jo nods. “Exactly. Then all bets are off.”  
  
“Bets,” says Rob, and pokes the shotgun. Dean moves it out of reach.  
  
“Speaking of mad,” Dean says, “you can’t do this, Jo. You can’t just go off on a hunt by yourself. It’s dangerous.”  
  
A martial glint returns to Jo’s eye. “What? Because I’m a woman? I’ve done solo hunts before, Dean. So’ve you, for that matter.”  
  
“It’s different now! You know that!”  
  
“She’d’ve killed them all! _All_ of them, Dean! What, I was supposed to sit on my ass while she went on a murdering rampage?”  
  
“Well, better them than you!”  
  
Jo stares at him for a moment, then sighs, all passion spent. “I know you don’t mean that.”  
  
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I do,” says Dean definitely.  
  
“Well, what if I hadn’t stopped her? Maybe she wouldn’t have stopped at all? Jeez, Dean, we can’t let these things go unchecked, you know that. _Everyone_ would’ve been in danger, me and Rob included.”  
  
Dean looks at his wife and son, and thinks that the terrifying thing is that he would give anything - _anything_ \- to keep them safe from harm, and sometimes even that’s just not enough. Sometimes you just can’t do anything. “I wish it was easier to not help. I hate this fucking crap,” he says heavily.  
  
“Fucking crap,” says Rob gleefully, and chuckles.

oOo

That argument is long and old and comes out time and time again and is never fully resolved. But mostly they argue about milk and taking out the trash and whether Jo should play the (naked) victim on their website of the supernatural, and they reckon that’s as it should be.  
  
“Hey,” says Dean, “you never did make me that pie.”  
  
“Oh, Winchester. You just had to go there.”  
  
THE END


End file.
